


Could be worse

by quandong_crumble



Series: I am come home [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: College, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Young Love, college-age Tony and Rhodey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quandong_crumble/pseuds/quandong_crumble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1988 and finals are looming, but a night on the couch watching a movie with your best friend can feel like the whole world. Especially if you can work up the courage to kiss him.</p>
<p>Tony and Rhodey's first kiss is shared late at night on their couch, while they're supposed to be watching a movie. It couldn't be more perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could be worse

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [Not Applicable](http://archiveofourown.org/users/not_applicable/pseuds/Not%20Applicable) and [Saral](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Saral_Hylor/pseuds/Saral_Hylor) for encouraging me to write this, and to Saral for the beta.

There’s a sort of comfort to coming home after a long night—even one as tame as this—and knowing you can just put your feet up and relax and that there’s nothing scheduled for early tomorrow morning. The bar hadn’t been packed, but more than a few of Jim Rhodes’ friends had been there and it had been a nice night playing pool and having a few beers—courtesy of a quality fake ID—although never quite managing to duck out of the shadow of impending exams. He’d dragged Tony along too, despite all his protests against hanging out with undergraduates, and it had been an odd sort of nice not to be holding him up as he puked his lungs out in a hedge on the way home. In fact, he only saw Tony buy two beers, barely enough to work up a buzz.

Said nearly sober friend finally unlocks the door of their shared apartment and walks in, leaving the door open for Jim to follow. They pause only long enough to lock up and kick off their shoes, then make a beeline for the couch. The squishy, overstuffed cushions let out a hiss of escaping air when Tony collapses face first onto it, taking up the full length in a sprawl of pale limbs and acid wash denim.

Jim kicks at his leg. “Move, you lump. I want to sit down too.”

“There’s floor. Have floor,” Tony grumbles.

Jim laughs and sits heavily on Tony’s lower legs, prompting a startled grunt from the younger man. “Nope, I’m sitting on the couch whether you move or not.”

Tony twists and flails but he’s fairly well pinned by Jim’s weight just behind his knees, and his hands barely brush Jim’s arm before he subsides and burrows his face into the cushions.

“If you get up and get me a beer I’ll move,” he mumbles and it’s only because they’ve been sharing an apartment since the beginning of the school year that Jim can even begin to understand the muffled words. He considers not getting up just to prove a point, but one last beer does sound like a good idea. It beats getting back to his physics revision at any rate. 

He can’t help but swat Tony’s thigh as he gets up, just below the curve of his backside. He wants, has wanted for too long now, to place his hand just a little bit higher, to grab rather than smack, to dare to make a move on the infuriating young man who was first his mentor, then his friend. Now? Jim thinks they’re balancing on the edge of being something more. They’ve gotten so close, started sharing more than just living space, and he knows he’s being chicken, but he’s just not ready, not brave enough to take the next step. 

It’s not like he doesn’t think Tony would be receptive at all, he muses as he pushes a couple of old pizza boxes aside so he can reach the six pack at the back of the fridge. He knows Tony and Aaron weren’t ‘studying’ all those times Aaron came over, the walls aren’t that thick, and even though Tony flirts like he breathes Jim’s pretty sure there’s more than just friendliness there. And while he’s kept his attraction to guys a secret from the general public—or he’d be out of the AFROTC so fast he’d have friction burns, let alone an Air Force career—Tony was home the night Jim had brought that cute pre-law student, Mark or something, back after a party and they’d stumbled drunkenly into his bedroom. It’s just that it would be easier if Tony was a girl because Jim’s willing to admit, even if only to himself, that he doesn’t want something that only lasts a night or a week with Tony. He wants something special, something that lasts as long as possible and adds to their friendship, not something that they regret and that makes everything awkward.

Not that this stupid crush isn’t starting to make things awkward as hell anyway. Jim’s had to talk himself out of two Tony-induced boners already tonight. The first, at least, was in the privacy of their own apartment when Tony decided to dance around the kitchen, sliding on the polished floor in his socks, and wearing nothing else except for his briefs and a pair of headphones. Jim had been able to smile and enjoy the scene, particularly the way Tony shook his butt before skipping sideways to slide, before he silently retreated to his room to calm the hell down. The second, though, happened at the bar, and Jim had never been more relieved to be wearing jeans instead of his usual sweat pants. Tony had been bent over the pool table, lining up a shot, and both his shirt and jacket had ridden up to show a tantalising stripe of winter-pale skin above the waistband of his jeans. Jim had caught himself thinking about running his hand over that, the way Tony would jump at the unexpected touch, and had choked on his beer. And managed to, rather embarrassingly, spit some of it on the nice girl he’d been chatting to, ending that particular conversation rather abruptly.

“Did you get lost in the fridge?” Tony calls from the living room, effectively snapping Jim out of the tangle of his thoughts. He grabs two beers and shoves the pizza back into place, and heads back to the couch.

Tony’s sitting mostly upright now, sprawled across the seat in a way that’s left just enough room for Jim to join him. His jacket’s been discarded somewhere, probably on the floor behind the couch, and he’s fiddling with the fancy new universal remote. Jim’s fingers itch to play with it and he has to admit that there are some definite benefits to living with a kid whose pocket money totals more than most family incomes. Their apartment is nicer than most of their professors can afford, and Tony has the latest and greatest of everything. Most of it’s even in working order, although the CD player is still sitting on the kitchen table, gutted and abandoned. 

“Raid the dregs of late night TV, or pop a movie in?” Tony asks once Jim’s settled on the couch. 

Jim seriously considers getting back up and finding the Lethal Weapon tape that he’s pretty sure is in his room somewhere, but he’s comfy. He’s also quite possibly too tired to stay awake through the whole movie anyway. 

“TV,” he votes, and holds Tony’s beer out towards him. When Tony doesn’t take it, too busy mucking around with the remote to notice, he presses the cold can against his arm and laughs when Tony jumps and yelps.

“Jerk,” he says, and snatches the beer. He pops the top one-handed and takes a long swig, never ceasing his fiddling with the remote. The TV comes to life with a muted pop and crackle.

“Nope, nope, nope,” Tony mutters as he flicks through the channels. Late night commercials, sports replays and talk shows flicker past, each dismissed almost before the sound comes on. A familiar back and white title screen flashes up briefly. 

“Wait,” Jim says. “Go back a few.”

Tony flicks back slowly until the screen goes black and white again. 

“Yeah, stop here,” Jim says.

“What’s this?” 

“Haven’t you ever seen ‘Young Frankenstein’?” Jim asks. 

“No,” Tony admits. “It looks old.”

“Oh man, this is a classic. It’s Mel Brooks! I can’t believe you haven’t seen it.”

“I don’t have a lot of time to watch movies.”

Jim makes a noise of agreement. Between his classes, training and trying to maintain at least a bit of a social life, nights camped on the couch watching movies are few and far between. This, though, is shaping up to be nice, and Jim thinks he can probably make an effort to do it more often if it means he can sprawl out with a beer, Tony’s leg pressed unconsciously against his, warm through the two layers of denim.

There’s a shock of cold down his side and leg as Tony pulls away during the first ad break and, okay, he didn’t realise he’d been leaning that close. He tries not to feel a little bereft when Tony gets up and starts walking out of the room.  

“Getting tired?” Jim asks. It’s reasonable, it’s pretty late and maybe the comedy isn’t really Tony’s thing. 

“No way,” Tony says. “Just cold. I’m grabbing a blanket. Do you want another beer?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jim says. “Why don’t you just put your jacket back on, you nut?”

“Blankets are better,” Tony says, a hint of _well, duh_ in his voice.

He’s back before the ad break finishes, the enormous red blanket from his bed half bundled under one arm and half trailing behind him. The couch bounces as he flops down in a flurry of fluff and the jasmine scent of the laundry detergent the cleaner uses, and then there’s a cold can pressed into Jim’s hand just as the movie starts again.

They’re quickly engrossed, their comfortable silence broken by soft laughter and Tony’s occasional snide commentary. It’s so comfortable, so natural, that Jim almost doesn’t notice how they’ve slowly rearranged themselves until they’re both snuggled together under the blanket, Tony’s back pressed against Jim’s side, Jim’s arm wrapped around his shoulders loosely. He realises with a flush of self-conscious embarrassment that his thumb is stroking a patch of skin on Tony’s collarbone, under the loose neck of his shirt. He freezes, he doesn’t want to snatch his hand away, not when Tony’s allowing this, enjoying it even, but he’s not sure how, whether to, keep going from here. 

Tony reaches up and pats his hand gently. “Is this okay?” He sounds quieter than normal and somehow open, all pretence stripped from his voice. 

“Yeah,” Jim rubs another gentle circle into the smooth skin. His own voice catches him by surprise, hushed and hoarse, and he feels more nervous than he has since he kissed Susie at Junior Prom. “Yeah, this is okay.”

“We can just watch the movie,” Tony says, but he makes no move to pull away. 

“Yeah,” Jim says. He tightens his arm for a moment, just a little, just enough to show Tony that he still wants him right here, and presses his cheek against Tony’s hair. Tony hums contentedly, more of a vibration of his chest against Jim’s hand than something audible. 

The movie keeps playing but Jim barely notices now. He’s too caught up in Tony, how he feels against him, all warm and solid, the skin under his thumb so smooth, almost delicate. The hot metal smell of yesterday’s welding still barely clinging to Tony’s hair even under the clean scent of shampoo. How it’s silky soft and a little greasy already, so fascinatingly different from the rough, tight curl of Jim’s own hair and how it goes dry and crackly between washes.

He pulls back when he realises he’s practically rubbing his cheek like a cat against the back of Tony’s head. 

“This is okay,” Tony repeats. Jim’s head is whirling, caught between how good it feels to have Tony cradled against him like this, the intimacy that feels so much bigger than sex, and that awful little rational voice in the back of his mind telling him he can’t have this, if he and Tony start something right now it’s not going to be over in the morning. It’s going to last as long as he can drag it out and this is too big a secret to start keeping now. He can see a future of dates only in the privacy of their homes, of never being able to be affectionate in public if there’s a chance of being seen, of being photographed. Years of living apart and missing holidays and damn him but he’s having trouble caring right now, not with Tony practically in his lap. 

_“Could be worse,”_  Marty Feldman says on screen, and Jim finds himself agreeing. Worse than having Tony—even if they have to keep it a secret, even if it doesn’t last—would be never having him at all.

_“Could be raining.”_

Tony lets out a loud bark of laughter at the absurdity of the grave-digging scene, breaking the last little bit of awkward tension, and twists to face Jim. His eyes are bright, his smile wide, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world for Jim to bend his neck and press his lips to the other man’s. Tony’s lips are soft, dry, a little chapped, and the kiss is on a slightly awkward angle, but it’s still possibly the best kiss he’s ever had. His eyes are open, he should close them, it’s not like he can see anything worth looking at when they’re this close, but he has this silly fear that if he closes his eyes now he’ll wake up alone in his bed and this will all have been a dream. 

Tony kisses open mouthed, he discovers, and with quick, clever flickers of his tongue that tease at his lower lip. He nibbles and suckles and is never still for very long, squirming against Jim until he’s turned, half-slid off the couch, and clambered back up, facing Jim, to straddle his lap, all without breaking the kiss. He kisses in quick, nibbling pecks and swipes of his tongue that never quite dive into Jim’s mouth, and Jim can’t keep up, can’t get do more than try to answer back at the same frantic pace. He slides one hand up Tony’s back to press at the line of his spine between his shoulder blades, and grabs a handful of Tony’s hair with the other, holding him still. Tony relaxes into his grip, goes pliant, and Jim slows their pace, kissing with long presses of his lips and pressing his tongue into Tony’s welcoming mouth.

“Is this okay?” Jim asks when they finally break apart. He runs his hands down Tony’s back and around to span his slim hips, and leans back to look up at him. They’re both panting. Tony’s eyes are huge, all pupil, and Jim’s pretty sure his don’t look much different, and Tony’s hair is sticking up in all directions.

“This is better than okay,” Tony says. “This. Is. So. Much. Better. Than. Okay.”

He punctuates each word with a quick peck on Jim’s lips and Jim laughs, chasing his mouth for a proper kiss. Tony just melts against him, opens to him again with a breathy little noise that goes straight to Jim’s dick. Jim pauses, just for a moment, swallows hard and tries to will his rising erection away. Tony pulls back instantly. 

“This is okay, right?” He asks, and he sounds so concerned, so uncertain, and Jim wants to kiss it all away. 

“Yes, of course,” he says. “It’s just, this isn’t just for tonight, is it?”

Tony grins, relief apparent in the way his shoulders slump and his hands come up to cradle Jim’s face. “No, no, no, sugarplum. You’re stuck with me as long as you’ll have me.”

“Sugarplum? Really?” Jim asks. He wishes he could raise one eyebrow sceptically, settles for lifting both. “Are the sappy nicknames going to start now? We haven’t even had our first date?”

“Sugarplum, buttercup, sweet potato,” Tony murmurs against his lips between gentle kisses and okay, yeah, he can deal with silly nicknames of they’re from Tony. 

“It’s not going to be easy,” Jim says when Tony pulls away again. 

Tony’s grin softens into a warm smile. “Mom told me once that the things that are worth it are never easy. You’re worth it, Rhodey. I don’t care if we have to keep it a secret.”

“Really?” Jim asks, because this is more than he thought he could hope for.

“Really. Besides, who knows? With the way the world’s changing it might he perfectly okay for a gay man to serve in the military within the next ten years. We—” Tony cuts himself off and swallows hard before he continues, “—people like us might be able to get married within the next ten years.”

The pause, the change in wording, it’s like the unspoken words were shouted right in Jim’s ear and it sets his pulse racing. It’s there, not a proposal or an assumption, but a fledgling possibility and suddenly Jim can hope for a world where his mom and dad can sit in the front row at the church watch him say his vows and yeah, maybe he’s picturing Tony standing up there with him in a tux. So long as he keeps this to himself it’s not moving too fast, right. 

He wants to say, ‘I love you,’ but it’s too new, too soon, and he doesn’t want to rush this. He wants to take his time, learn every inch of the gorgeous creature in his lap, hair messed beyond repair, lips shiny and swollen from kissing. Learn him as a boyfriend, as a lover and not just a friend. There will be time for the ‘I love you’s later, once a little bit of the shine’s worn off and he’s had time to get frustrated by Tony’s untidy habits and perpetual lateness from a different perspective. Right now it feels like they have all the time in the world.

He needs to say  _something_ , because Tony’s starting to get that uncertain look on his face again and he’s opening his mouth like he’s about to start verbally back-pedalling, but he can’t think what. He drags Tony down into another kiss instead, silences him and reassures him with the press of lips on lips and he’ll never get sick of doing this. 

“Hey,” he says when they break apart again. “It could be worse.”

“Yeah,” Tony answers. “You could still be pretending you aren’t interested in me.”

It would hurt if Tony hadn’t said it so lightly, wasn’t still smiling. “We could go back to you flirting with everything that moves,” he teases back. 

“That’s not going to change, honey bear, but it won’t mean anything unless I’m flirting with you.”

“I guess I can handle that.”

Tony strokes Jim’s face gently, thumbs tracing the delicate skin under his eyes, and he leans in to take a lingering kiss. All the urgency is gone, it’s just one solid, almost chaste press of lips. He nuzzles down into the crook of Jim’s neck and shoulder and sort of collapses bonelessly against him. Jim wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him close. One hand finds the gap where his shirt has ridden up above the waistband of his jeans and strokes the warm skin there. Tony’s getting heavy, starting to cut off the circulation to his legs, and the TV is still blaring too loudly in the background, but right now there’s nowhere Jim would rather be.


End file.
